The Hunt for the Legendary Maverick
by Datau
Summary: At first, Harpuia thought this one was just another Maverick. Only, he was nothing like the other Mavericks. Zero. Would. Not. Die. But perhaps the Legendary Maverick is not as unrelatable as he appears…
1. Defection

**Defection:**

Sage Harpuia first heard of this new Maverick threat while hunting for a defector. Defection among humans was nearly unheard of: they had a right to a long and fulfilling life, after all; it was written in the law, it was upheld by judges in courts, it was enforced by legions of soldiers over just as numerous legions of Mavericks. Why would one of them throw all of that away? What could a woman ever desire, that she couldn't find in Neo Arcadia?

Dr. Ciel was a human scientist. Fact. She had left Neo Arcadia for reasons Harpuia had yet to uncover, and had brought a handful of seditious reploids along with her. Another fact. No known weapons or martial training. No known firearms possession. Most likely conclusion: she was unarmed, in hostile territory, and with little idea of what dangers these traitors could present to her.

It was a good guess, and the other Guardians shared this very concern. Some more loudly than others. "A civilian wandering around ruins looking for trouble! What. Was. That woman. Thinking?!" as Fefnir had so graciously put it.

And Fefnir was hardly the only one to openly question the soundness of such a decision: Master X too must have felt great uneasiness at the prospect, if the countermeasures he took were of any indication. "This development shall not come to pass." He had decreed in an emergency session behind closed doors. "The threat to Dr. Ciel is too great, and Neo Arcadia can ill afford her loss. The First Guardian is to bring her back and restore justice. Such is my will, Harpuia. Make it so." Concise and to the point, as it was to be expected from the Celestial Patriarch of Neo Arcadia.

But there was another, more subtle, reason to be concerned. This woman wasn't a discontented citizen; if anything, she was one of the privileged few in a position of power. She had wealth, for Neo Arcadia rewards handsomely those who serve it well. She had connections, she could call favors: some even whispered that she was close to Master X himself. Naturally, Harpuia silenced these baseless rumors whenever they reached his audio receptors. But the doubts persisted.

 _No._

 _There can be no room for doubts._

 _I need to focus on the task at hand._

 _The time to answer these questions will come._

 _Eventually._

 _But that time is not now._

Master X had made his point. Track down the fugitives. Retrieve Dr. Ciel. Destroy all traitors encountered with extreme prejudice. These orders were everything Harpuia needed to know. The tactical map was in front of him, inviting him to draw his next plan on its clean surface. Compared to the modest area he was supposed to investigate, he had been granted exceptional power for this operation: he could pick any units of his choice, and assign them as he saw fit. That was his prerogative as a commander.

In addition to these forces, strategic reserves would also be available from multiple bases and outposts in the region; Neo Arcadia understood the importance of units ready for deployment at a moment's notice, and Harpuia prided himself in his ability to deploy reaction forces to areas of conflict hundreds of kilometers away in a timely matter.

He acknowledged the presence of strategic reserves in the theater as an asset, but for all their eventual contribution they might as well have not been there: he had already handpicked enough elite units to make a small army, there was no need for additional men in this operation. And not all threats to a Neo Arcadian were of Maverick origin.

The terrain Dr. Ciel had chosen for her impromptu escapade was, to put it mildly, less than ideal: dense jungle in an area already prone to frequent precipitations. There was supposed to be a road connecting the mysterious ruins the woman appeared to be so interested in to the capital, but when Harpuia compared his map to the images from the satellites, he could see no sign of it; like an aggressive organism, he had to conclude, the jungle had expanded over the years and phagocytized the road.

Such an unwelcoming terrain, Harpuia knew, was going to present additional challenges to his strategy: jungle meant that his armored units would be slowed down by the trees, the roots and the mud. It also meant that his air units, Harpuia's photoreceptors, would be visually impaired by the leaves on the branches. Not even infantry was immune to slowdowns: Harpuia had to be careful around the swamps, lest his troops meet the same fate of the road, and ended up being swallowed by the jungle…


	2. Oblivion

**Oblivion:**

"This is the place where we lost contact with our scouts, general. This is what we have found."

Harpuia found himself in a large chamber, with Pantheons on all sides. Their officers, always aware of how far Pantheons could be relied upon, remained at a close distance form their underlings: they had been talking among themselves, but silence fell as soon as they recognized their commander.

"We thought it was an abandoned laboratory, sir." Harpuia's adjutant continued "But there's more to it. It's hard to explain it, general, but something's bothering the Pantheons. They have been pointing their Busters at that…thing…ever since we found it."

Emotion among Pantheons? That was a new one. Yet, as hard as it was to believe, a peculiar object in that room had successfully managed to draw the full attention of the pseudo-reploids: their primitive software, in the absence of a direct order, had forced them to stop and face the "threat", a pillar of some sorts in the center of the room.

 _I am not sure what I was expecting to find in these ruins, but this wasn't part of it._ There was a hint of intelligence in the Pantheons' behavior: it was as if they could instinctively feel the inherent wrongness within that particular piece of equipment. _They are aware of a threat against which we are blind. No wonder the officers are nervous._

"Interesting. Anything else?"

"We are receiving reports from multiple units engaged in combat with wild Mechaniloids throughout this facility, sir. Also, we lost contact with a Golem four levels below us. I have the coordinates, if you wish."

Harpuia thanked his adjutant with a slight nod. "That won't be necessary. Dr. Ciel is cornered: we surround this facility, she can't escape. We'll start combing the rooms as soon as I'm done inspecting this chamber. That is all."

"Very well, general." The adjutant conceded, and he said no more. He had no reason to, the First Guardian didn't look favorably upon those who spoke out of turn. When it came to interactions within the chain of command, Sage Harpuia kept the relationships with his subordinates strictly professional. It could be said that it ran in the family. But no reploid in Neo Arcadia would dare voice that thought openly.

 _Four levels below us. How large is this facility, anyway?_ Large enough to warrant an autonomous life-support system, as it later turned out. The facility had a generator, there was power running through its cables. There were pumps, it could draw water from a well. But in what a state all these systems were. The walls were fractured and covered in mold. Water had spilled from broken pipes, half of the chamber was flooded with it. Some stubborn radiators still provided heat to a few rooms; insufficient heat, obviously, their task was as impossible as it was pointless. _This facility is in terrible conditions, we'll have to be careful on where we walk. That ceiling looks like it could fall on our heads the moment a door gets slammed. I'd better inspect that device, before the walls decide to come down._

Harpuia took a moment to observe the device from a distance. It resembled a cylinder of sorts, and was in no better state than the rest of the laboratory: rust on its surface was eating away at what had not yet crumbled; the parts of it that had fallen revealed that it was hollow inside, with considerable space to boot. Intrigued, Harpuia decided to get a closer look.

He activated the boosters on his wings, crossing poodles of fetid water along the way. He landed close to the device, but not right next to it: he was suspicious of its apparent inactivity, it reeked of deceit. He decided it was safer to content himself with what he could see from the outside.

There were cables inside the device; their configuration was unknown, but Harpuia recognized their purpose from the plugs: they were meant to interface a reploid with his capsule. Only, this was hardly the reploid equivalent of a bed.

Harpuia had heard of capsules such as these, although he never thought he'd see one in person. Capsules meant for punishment, rather than sleep, where reploids could not awake by themselves. Capsules where a Maverick could lie is stasis, forgotten, all traces of its existence erased from the collective memory. Damnatio memoriae, some humans called it. The condemnation to oblivion.

"This is not a laboratory. This is a prison."

* * *

It was clear that what rested here was not meant to be awakened. Yet Ciel was after this very prisoner, Harpuia was certain of that. Fortunately for the good doctor, this Maverick had refrained from killing her on sight the moment it woke up; it was a distinct possibility, many incautious roboticists had met their doom at the hands of their latest creations: one only had to look at the Maverick Wars, to see the dangers that unregulated reploids posed to humans. Still, there was no telling how long Ciel's luck would last.

 _I doubt I can learn much more without a data bot. I'll have to ask Levi to lend me one of her specialists. But if I can't get answers from this device, perhaps I can get a clue from those who first came in contact with it…_

Harpuia activated his boosters again. He left the capsule behind and flew to the fallen Pantheons near the entrance. He scanned their remains to determine which one looked the most promising, and crouched next to its sliced torso to inspect it.

 _Diagonal cut from hip to shoulder. Death by power core breach. A clean cut, no jagged metal or burn marks. It must be an energy weapon. Hmm…quite rare to see this kind of technology in the hands of a Maverick. This plays into our hands, though. Let's see how far we can get with this information._

"We have a lead." he announced to the officers who had been patiently waiting in the room. "This Maverick has a non-standard weapon that leaves peculiar marks on its victims. If we follow the trail of dead Pantheons with the same marks, we should be able to find it." As an afterthought, he addressed them a warning and a reminder. "Your orders still stand: don't fire until authorized. We've gone too far to lose Dr. Ciel in the crossfire. That is all. Let's go."

* * *

They went. Harpuia first, officers, adjutant and Pantheons in tow.

The corridor leading outside the chamber had a low ceiling: Harpuia deactivated his boosters and resigned himself to walking. He encountered numerous signs of battle along the way: some of his Pantheons had been fighting Mavericks, spider-like Mechaniloids that were hostile to all but their own, and were commonly found infesting abandoned ruins.

The Pantheons had won all those battles. Temporary victories that were not meant to last. A third party had entered the fray, and was hostile to both the Pantheons and the Mechaniloids. It couldn't be anyone else but the mysterious Maverick. Harpuia pressed forward, confident that he was going in the right direction.

More signs of battle. More dead Pantheons and Mechaniloids. Then, suddenly, another chamber, this one with a chasm. A bleak abyss of very recent origin, if compared to everything else in the facility…

 _The ground gave way, and Ciel fell at the bottom of the chasm._ Harpuia realized, as he was hit by the grim reality of what had happened. _No human can survive a fall from such a height. Master X won't be pleased._

"I need an escort of Pantheon Aces." he ordered, a trace of resignation in his voice. "Dr. Ciel is down there, and we must recover her body. Everyone else. Secure the device and the rooms around it. Map these ruins while you are at it, a specialist will be here shortly with new orders." _My officers can handle the operations on this level. Time to recover the body._

The chasm where Ciel had fallen was virtually undescendable for any soldier that couldn't fly. Some Pantheons with jetpacks emerged from the crowd, creating a barrier around Harpuia with their bodies.

 _I can't see anything, I shouldn't risk my men in that darkness. Let's make some light._ He grabbed a pair of drones from his custom jetpack and activated them: he instructed one to remain above the chasm and provide light downwards; the other was to illuminate the walls of the chasm as they descended, to avoid dangerous mid-air collisions.

"We have light. Let us descend." Harpuia activated his boosters again, and the Pantheon Aces followed suit.

* * *

The descent was slow but steady. Thanks to the drones, they made to the bottom of the chasm without issue. They found plenty of rubble there, from the floor above their heads. There was also shallow water; some broken pipes must have formed an underground stream, Harpuia could hear drops of water falling in the distance. There was only one thing missing. Or rather, one person.

 _Ciel is not here? But then…where is she?_

He summoned the drone hovering above the chasm, and ordered it to scan the walls with its light beam alongside its companion. He was rewarded with a hidden aperture in a nook. Connected to the sewers, if the stench was of any indication. For a second, Harpuia wished he could do like the reploids of old, and deactivate his nose receptors.

 _Hidden tunnel to who-knows-where. This keeps getting better and better._ As the Pantheons and the drones began traversing it alongside him, it dawned to Harpuia that he was starting to get irritated. He felt dirty. The sludge on his boots bothered him, it made him wish for a hot shower. He felt tired. The mad rush to set up and execute this operation in time was draining him of his concentration.

 _Well, I could call for reinforcements and let them deal with this. I thought I was going to recover a corpse, not that I would need to explore this level all by myself. Reports to read, units to coordinate…I don't mind following Fefnir's example by leading from the front, but it's not like my presence isn't needed elsewhere!_

While Harpuia was debating among himself whether he should just order his forces to find some stairs and finish the search, he noticed a source of light in the distance, partially occluded by a metallic object of considerable size. He had to get close before he could recognize it, the awkward angle at which it was toppled made it difficult to distinguish from the other machinery in the facility.

 _The missing Golem? The Maverick took out a Golem?_ Everyone could take down a Pantheon; but that was expected, that was why they always came in squads of ten or more. A Golem? Now that was a different matter. But even a moderately skilled Maverick could get lucky, once in a while.

There was only another way out of that room, through a pocket door that opened vertically. A maintenance door, an unsightly contraption reserved to areas of low traffic, unlikely to lead to yet another corridor. _This could be it!_ thought Harpuia with anticipation. A jolt of electricity swept through his circuits; his power core began working faster than usual, the sensation of tiredness disappeared in an instant. Ciel appeared closer than ever, there was only that door between her and the First Guardian. On his part, Harpuia was ready to face the mysterious Maverick and slay it. He entered into a combat stance, tightening the grip on his twin blades.

The sensors built inside the door acknowledged his presence.

The door began opening.

Harpuia's hopes were crushed the moment he saw what was waiting him in the next room. _A trans-server! Why did it had to be a trans-server? And if the capsule in the chamber above us had power, then this trans-server is likely powered as well. Our chances of finding Ciel now are…well, slim._

And that was putting it mildly. There were over a million trans-servers in Neo Arcadia. They were sanctioned by the Transportation Authority, and regularly underwent maintenance. And then there were trans-servers that wouldn't appear on any map. Estimates on their numbers ranged from half the number of sanctioned trans-servers, to twice as many. True, many of these were broken. Others were simply out of power. This one was neither.

Harpuia opened a communication channel to all his officers, to inform them of this unwelcome development, and implement countermeasures.

"Gentlemen. We have a problem."


	3. Transit Hub

**Transit Hub:**

"Won't they follow us?"

"They would, if they knew where we are."

"What's stopping these soldiers, these…Neo Arcadians, from figuring that out?"

"Shortage of very expensive hardware, mostly. The equipment they'd need to extract this sort of information from a trans-server is the size of a wardrobe, and just about as mobile. Come, Zero. This way."

Zero followed Ciel away from the trans-server; she skirted along some railway tracks and led him into a large communal area next to the platforms. It occurred to Zero that he was completely reliant on Ciel for directions; to her credit, the female human took the lead almost immediately, and began navigating through the railway station with no hints of hesitation.

The opposite was true when it came to combat. The combat reploid instinctively knew this was no place where he could afford to lower his guard; he couldn't tell if Ciel was aware of that, however: human behavior was notoriously difficult to read, he'd better be ready to adjust on the fly. Zero switched into a slightly hunched posture, weapons at the ready. He scanned his surroundings as he walked, pointing his gun towards imaginary assailants. Familiarity with the building they were in could make all the difference in a fight.

This station must have been a major transit hub, in better times. There were sliding gates through which passengers would pass after validating their tickets; they were all laid open now, Ciel and Zero passed through one of them with no impediments. There were wooden benches, for the elderly and the weary; the wood had rotted away long ago, only the elegant metal armrests remained. There were wagons, but no locomotives; shops, but no customers. Security cameras lay deactivated on all corners; why waste precious energy, when there was nothing of value to steal?

Zero saw advertisements for brands that meant nothing to him. He saw monumental arches ten meters tall, supporting equally as impressive vaults. There were frescoes on their surface, they must have been beautiful in their days; too bad time had dulled their bright colors into a grey monochrome patina. But at least they made for a decent roof, they were in good enough conditions to provide shelter from the elements.

And not only to Ciel and Zero, on closer inspection. There were others who found shelter under the vaults, and they did so by hanging upside-down them with their powerful talons. Zero immediately identified the bat-like Mechaniloids for what they were.

"Mavericks!" He said, as he stepped forward to shield Ciel with his body. "Ciel! Stand back!" He pointed his gun upwards and took aim. He expected them to break of from the ceiling and dive to attack; instead, the words he heard next caught him completely off guard. "Zero! Wait! Not all Mavericks are aggressive. These Mechaniloids won't bother us, if we don't bother them."

Tolerance towards Mavericks? What was this madness? What government would condone such behavior from its citizens? Before he could question her, Ciel resumed speaking. "Can I ask you to put away your sword? Its light is giving away our position, we really don't want to draw attention…"

"Fine." Zero conceded with a caveat. " But I'll keep the gun out." He deactivated the sword and sheathed it in a scabbard fastened to his leg; he then switched the gun from his left hand to his right hand. The Mavericks, on their part, appeared mostly angered that someone had intruded into their lair to interrupt their sleep cycles; they waved their wings to express irritation, made some noises to warn them not to do that again, and resumed sleeping.

The Mechaniloids seemed content to stay put, but the matter was far from settled. What authorities would allow Mavericks to roam free and dwell as they desired? Zero, gun still pointed at the Mavericks, decided to press Ciel for answers. "Ciel, explain something to me. Why does your government cares so little for the safety of its own citizens? Or is the war with Neo Arcadia going so badly that they can't even spare a few squads to purge the Mavericks from their major cities?"

It was Ciel's turn to be caught off guard. "I.." She hesitated, unsure how to answer. What was she going to tell him? She remembered her history lessons as a child, and how painfully inadequate they proved to be: a lifetime of comforts in Neo Arcadia had made it difficult to even imagine the horrors she would find outside its pristine walls. And now Zero was in the same condition she was back then, struggling to grasp the magnitude of the events that had happened. For the sake of her friends, Ciel prayed he would be a fast learner.

"I don't think I can explain." She started, in an attempt to introduce him as gently as possible to his new reality. "There are things in this world that can't be described with words. It may sound strange to hear, but it will probably be easier to just show you. We are almost outside the station, the main entrance is close. Do you see that gate? Take some time to look around you, once we've passed it. Then you will understand. I promise."

It takes a lot to make the voice of a combat reploid shake. It takes even more to shake said reploid to his core. An instant is all it took Zero to engrave this memory in his mind. It would last him for the rest of his life.

Ruins.

Ruins as far as the eye could see.

Ruins under a grey sky, dark clouds bearing the promise of acid rains.

Ruins embalmed in stillness, the triumph of silence above the cries of pain and sorrow.

Ruins enshrined to War's flaming sword and Death's cold touch, where no life would ever grow again.

Were he human, Zero would have had his throat turn dry in front of such unholy altars. "Who did this?" Was the only thing he managed to say.

"Reploids did this, Zero. The flames of the Elf Wars consumed this planet, no large city was spared. And now we live in the ruins of our civilization. Our enemies are the closest thing we have to a government, we rely on them for everything. Because they have the only facilities that can produce our supplies; they have the only armies that can cleanse the streets from the really dangerous Mavericks. Because, besides Neo Arcadia… there is nothing else."

* * *

Zero wished to reply, but realized that he couldn't. The words just refused to come out. It was Ciel who eventually broke the silence. "Besides Neo Arcadia there is nothing else." She repeated. "But it doesn't have to remain that way. There is a hidden shelter for reploids in this city; with time, it might grow into something more. But for that to happen, we need your help. I said before that Neo Arcadia was our enemy, but it is more of a heated disagreement over political stances. Because certain privileges are not only a matter of coins. But we'll speak more of that later, once we are at our shelter. Is that good enough for you, Zero? Are you willing to listen to what we have to say?"

"I will listen to your proposal." Zero confirmed, his voice beginning to return. "Later, as you have said."

"I'm glad to hear it." Ciel replied, relief in her voice over this small but costly victory. "Let's waste no more time, then: I'll give you all the details tomorrow. Because I need to rest, at least for a few hours."

"How come you are tired? We have just left my prison, it can't have been more than two hours ago."

"It may have been two hours for you, perhaps, but I have been running through jungles and ruins since this morning. I'm exhausted, Zero. I have managed to keep my eyes open only thanks to a mixture of desperation, adrenaline, and all the coffee I could find."

"Fair enough." Zero conceded. "Lead the way."

* * *

And so they went, using what remained of the buildings for cover. No point in using the roads, if they could avoid it: Ciel was unwilling to risk encountering a Neo Arcadian patrol. They privileged underpasses for the hideouts they offered; holes in the walls for the shortcuts they provided.

Far from them, way above their heads, some Pantheons with jetpacks were performing a recon mission within the city. The Pantheons were unaware of their presence, and disappeared quickly from the district; Ciel and Zero didn't even register the noises they made with their engines. It was almost as if a yet unmet general was sending out air patrols in random directions, for the sake of pretending to do something.


	4. Aztec Falcon

**Aztec Falcon:**

From the outside, the Disposal Center didn't seem that impressive. Unsightly as the buildings that surrounded it, this facility had the dubious privilege of being only slightly less run down. Chunks of debris were a common occurrence in this district, the acid rains were merely finishing what war could not accomplish. The roads were filled with holes, sewer pipes could be occasionally found unburied from their trenches.

A container was parked next to the facility's outer wall, large enough to hold one of the many wrecked cars that littered what remained of the street. Rather anonymous, Zero could barely read "waste disposal" written on one side; it had been left there, locked, for no apparent purpose. But it would make for a decent access ramp to the facility's upper floor, terrible smell it emanated notwithstanding. Climbing the container only required Zero to perform a short run-up. Another jump, and he was inside.

 _Under a roof, finally._ Zero's hair was soaked from the rain, he began shaking off the water from his body, mindful of the damage the acids could inflict on his metal parts. Then he cleaned his boots from the mud, slipping during combat would put him at a severe disadvantage, he needed to be certain of the ground he was standing on. Lastly, he followed the only hallway into a small chamber, where he met a tall animaloid bent over a control panel on the wall.

A real giant, the animaloid towered over Zero even in his current position; one could only guess how tall he would be, had he been completely upright. The combat reploid felt minuscule, the animaloid in front of him must have had at least twice his mass. And he was designed with speed and agility in mind! Why else would he need powerful actuators on his legs? Why else would he need wings, on a back large enough to carry two normal reploids?

The animaloid stopped operating on the control panel, and turned to face Zero. He was weary of the newcomer, and spoke with an overtly hostile tone. "You don't look like a Neo Arcadian. You must be some of the garbage."

"Garbage?" _Surely he can't be talking about…_

"Below us, in the trash compactor. Hold on. I'll make you hear what you can't see." He pressed on last button on the control panel. The ground below them began vibrating. And screaming.

Voices.

Voices from hundreds of reploids in dozens of tongues, impossible to determinate either number.

Voices cursing, screaming, begging and pleading, as their ceiling slowly descended upon them to crush their unseen bodies.

Voices that would soon join the chorus of the silenced.

Unheard. Unremembered. Forever.

"You see, now? That's the kind of filth Harpuia sent me to clean up!"

 _Harpuia? It must be his commander. I'd better remember that name for later. He has much to answer for._ In itself, that name didn't mean anything to Zero. Still, he doubted that the commander's definition of garbage differed significantly from the one used by his underling. What the combat reploid had witnessed was already enough to form an opinion on that Harpuia. Battle would prove who was right.

The animaloid switched fluently into a combat stance. "Don't worry, little piece of junk, you'll join them soon enough. I am Aztec Falcon! I think it's time to take out some trash!"

 _So is this what it has come to? Are we comparing reploids to garbage? The world crumbles around us, and some still seek division instead of unity._ Zero took a moment to remember Ciel's words. He felt his resolve bolster, his anger could be as deadly as any other weapon. _I will not allow this. You are right, Aztec Falcon. Time to take out the trash._

* * *

"We have lost contact with one of our Disposal Centers, general. The unit we sent to investigate has reported the death of the officer assigned to it. It was one of ours, sir. Aztec Falcon is dead."

 _Aztec Falcon is dead._

Harpuia's processor had to elaborate that statement more than once, it seemed difficult to grasp. _Aztec Falcon is dead._ _I struggle to understand what could have killed him: yes, he was not one of my best fighters, but I would have hardly called him a rookie. He had a "pragmatic" approach to combat; he knew how to win over technically superior warriors in mock fights. But, off course, we weren't looking at his combat prowess when we chose him._

Men like Aztec Falcon were a rare commodity. It took a peculiar mindset to oversee a Disposal Center; few officers would willingly apply for an assignment of this sort. _No, we needed an officer that could be quickly swept under the rug and forgotten. Because there are roles that no one wants to fill. And he was one of the nasty ones, the perfect candidate for such a "demanding" job. I still remember him well. But not fondly._

"How many other people know of this?" The adjutant tensed, he wasn't expecting this question. A test, obviously, Harpuia was always testing his adjutants, he had to ensure they would meet his impossibly high standards; the First Guardian was a demanding commander, serving under him was both a great honor, and incredibly draining. He was respected, but not beloved, the other Guardians were the closest thing he had to an equal. And he changed his adjutants often, one wrong answer could make all the difference. "Only…only our unit and the operators are aware of this fact, sir. The rest of your command staff has yet to be informed."

"Good." _The less people know of this, the better. I don't want any more of my men having trouble with their sleep._ "Be ready to leave. I'll handle this myself."

* * *

A stench permeated the Disposal Center, Harpuia was assailed by it the moment he arrived; the putritude was almost unbearable, it smelled of reploid blood and exhausted oil, bodily fluids of which he would rather never see the source. The worst part? That stench had been there since time immemorial, it just wouldn't go away, no matter how hard the walls and the floors were scrubbed; it persisted in the air, always reminding any visitors of what had transpired in the facility.

Behind him, on the same trans-server platform, Harpuia's adjutant had made the mistake of breathing fully with his lungs. He began coughing almost immediately, no amount of briefings could have prepared him adequately for the stench of rot he would find. Harpuia, already regretting the decision to bring him along, decided they wouldn't remain more than strictly necessary.

 _Our unit mentioned in their report that the facility's trans-server had been tampered with. Levi, however, assures me that our trans-servers are completely secure; she conveniently forgets to mention that this is only true from the outside. In light of this discrepancy, we can presume that the Maverick responsible for this attack used the trans-server not to get inside, but rather to escape. Might as well start from there, then, since we are already upon it. Let's see…_

Harpuia descended from the trans-server to inspect it from the side. _First clue, this maintenance panel shouldn't be open; has the Maverick interfaced with the trans-server? It seems so, the firewalls are all down. Let's check the trans-server's databanks; the memory is…completely empty. Duh. How foolish of me to think otherwise. Hmm, this incursion is a bit too elaborate for the average Maverick, there was some serious thought behind it._ The Maverick had put a lot of effort to conceal its movements, Harpuia was forced to admit. He suspected the trans-server would remain nothing but a dead end, even with the help of a specialist.

 _Let's recap: the Maverick lowered the trans-server's firewalls, and used it to escape; then it forced a reset to factory standards, to hide all traces of its destination. Well, Levi is going to get her hands full, if this Maverick turns out to be a cyber-security expert._ The trans-server wasn't going to reveal anything else, that much was certain, but there were other clues to be gathered: on the body of the victim, for instance, even though Harpuia was reluctant to enter the next room, too well aware of what he would find.

 _The stench is not going to get any better. Let's make this quick._ He instructed his adjutant to follow him into the trash compactor room. Harpuia had made the decision on an impulse, and just as quickly he came to regret it.

Blood on the walls; washed badly, some traces remained on the metal. And scratches. _Deep scratches on the walls. And not just any walls. Metal walls, one can't leave marks like these without breaking his fingers. I can't even imagine how desperate these…Mavericks… must have been, to willingly inflict such pain upon themselves._

Besides the blood and the scratches, there were the Pantheons and their officers from Neo Arcadia, the unit who had come to investigate the unresponsive facility. There was no chatter among the men, the grim atmosphere was unbecoming for idle conversation. The room offered a crude picture of the facility's purpose, and it was all but subtle. Even Harpuia was starting to feel its influence.

Only the Pantheons were unaffected. They stood, their weapons at ease. It was as if they endorsed the deliberations of their progenitor with their stoic indifference. _No. Such cruelty is not possible; it has no place in this century, we buried it behind us after the Elf Wars. I can't, I refuse to believe someone would approve of something like this!_

While wondering how much the room was starting to compromise his judgement, Harpuia found the remains of Aztec Falcon. They were in a corner of the room, below the massive trash compactor, in a place usually reserved for the garbage. Normally Harpuia would have wondered how they ended up as they were.

Not this time.

Focusing on Aztec Falcon's body only helped him so much. _The Maverick cut him in half. In half! His assailant is a monster, it's so obvious even a child could see it! I have tracked down monsters like these in the past! And I have slayed them all! Why this one should be any different?!_ Many more questions should have occupied his mind; the identity of the mysterious assailant, for example, or considerations about the weapon that had caused Aztec Falcon's demise.

Not this time.

It was pointless, Harpuia couldn't continue the examination, his attention continuously drifted towards the walls. In their silence, they spoke deafening words of accusation. And their voiceless words drowned out the loudest shouts of denial. _There is only one monster, and it's out there, surely looking for its next victim! Why…why is it getting so difficult to focus?! I am a proud warrior of Neo Arcadia! Not a murderer with the executioner's blade in his very hands!_

Then it occurred to Harpuia that his men were staring at him.

His power core skipped the following three pulses, his body temperature dropped in an instant; had Harpuia attempted to speak, he wouldn't have been able to form a cohesive sentence. He had fallen into panic. Completely and utterly. _My men! I can't show weakness in front of them!_ He couldn't remain here, he had to move. On the upper floor, perhaps, where he wouldn't be reminded of the horrors below. Why hadn't he thought about this earlier?

Harpuia began walking towards the stairs. He had to dedicate his whole attention to this task, his movements were slow and deliberate; he didn't trust his legs, let alone something as complicated as his jetpack.

* * *

On the upper floor, far from the judgmental stares of Harpuia's men, reason finally reasserted itself.

There wasn't much above the trash compactor, mainly signs of battle near the main control panel. Metal darts were embedded in the walls, projectiles that had clearly missed their intended target. But not all of them, there was fresh reploid blood nearby, at least one shot had connected with the Maverick. Harpuia also recognized the burn marks from electric discharges running up to the ceiling, another favorite trick of Aztec Falcon. Yet, in the end, neither weapon could save him.

Nor the control panel, for that matter. This small miracle for the micromanagement inclined, where a single reploid could oversee the operations of the entire facility, had incurred in the wrath of the mysterious assailant; the Disposal Center wasn't going to be operative again, not while its main control station had these marks on its surface. Deep marks, very peculiar. Too peculiar, in fact, to the point of being almost familiar…

 _Wait a second…I remember marks like these. I found them in the abandoned prison when I was pursuing that human defector. Am I to conclude that Aztec Falcon's assailant and that Maverick are one and the same?_ That would be a huge breakthrough, if true. But Harpuia was reluctant to draw hasty conclusions, when they came without other sources to corroborate his theories.

Then he noticed his adjutant was right behind him, asking for his attention. Harpuia had completely lost track of him, he must have been there for some time, patiently waiting for the right moment to speak. "Excuse me, general. We have received an update from the Intelligence Division: the mysterious assailant has left some traces after its assault on this facility, Intel has composed a dossier with all the information they could find. The relevant files have been uploaded on your terminal at the office, sir."

 _Already? Phantom's men never cease to surprise me with their efficiency. No wonder Levi is always chasing after them for her cyber-warfare unit; not that she stands a chance: Phantom is too jealous of his men to let anyone get too close to his precious Intelligence Division. A real shame, I could use a couple of them for myself._ "If Intel worked any faster, we would know of a crime before it happened." Not the cleverest joke, perhaps, but Harpuia would have grasped at anything that could lighten the mood. "What about our data-bot at the ruined prison?"

"We have yet to hear word from Maha Ganeshariff, sir. He mentioned setting up a defensive perimeter in his last report, though, after his arrival." The last part was redundant, obviously; Harpuia was already aware of that fact. With an unexpected display of boldness, the adjutant dared to ask. "Do you…do you have any orders, sir?" A clear breach of protocol, but few would have blamed the reploid. _My adjutant is distressed by the oppressing atmosphere of the Disposal Center; he wants to leave, he's begging me for it. I won't be the only one who'll need help sleeping, tonight._

"Yes. Gather the men. Tell them to take Aztec Falcon back to Neo Arcadia for regeneration. We're leaving."

* * *

A few hours before these events, in a relatively close reploid shelter…

"Zero! What happened?!"

"Not much." replied Zero, as he left the trans-server platform with a hand pressed on his side to stem the blood loss. "I had a disagreement with the head of the local recycling plant. He couldn't understand what was wrong in the way his facility was run, so I had to shut it down. Permanently. Wasn't that what you wanted, Ciel? Why are you all looking at me like this? It hurts a little, true, but it's not that bad. Trust me, he's worse."

It couldn't occur to him why Ciel was pressing keys so frantically on her communication device. "You have metal bars sticking out from your guts, and you expect me to remain calm?!" She eventually managed to overcome the shaking of her hands, and pressed the communicator to her ear. "Cerveau? It's me. I need you in the trans-server room with a stretcher. Zero is wounded."

The reploid known as Cerveau came with the "stretcher". It consisted in metal sheets crudely welded to two bars of metal. Zero found himself forcibly loaded onto it before he had time to protest. "I know we are short on resources, Zero, but we do take care of our wounded." Ciel half scolded, half suggested, as she followed the stretcher. "Do you know Elpizo? He's our quartermaster, he's pretty good at managing our supplies. I'm sure he won't mind lending us some for patching you up."

"Never heard of him." Zero replied. Elpizo left Zero's mind about as quickly as he had entered it. They took an elevator for the lower levels, where Cerveau had his workshop. The stretcher also doubled as the operating table, apparently; Cerveau immobilized Zero with a set of clamps and grabbed his tools.

There wasn't much that Cerveau could do with the instruments he had available: he could remove the metal bolts with the pliers, and seal the breach in the chest plate; the combat reploid's self-repair system would have to handle the rest. It was hardly ideal, there would be scars, but they had to make do. Cerveau began talking in an attempt to distract Zero from the pain. "You're a sturdy one, Zero, I can say you were built to last. You must have been pretty advanced for your age, I wish I had the instruments to map your schematics; as a scientist, that would be enlightening; as the closest thing we have to a doctor, it would spare me many headaches in the future."

"You won't have to," Ciel interjected "if we can get the right reploids on board. We have long thought the destruction of a Disposal Center impossible; today Zero proved us wrong. A small victory for our resistance movement, we must capitalize on it: if we spread the word, we can convince many reploids who hesitate to join us."

"Good point!" Cerveau nodded enthusiastically his approval; on the operating table, Zero clenched at the sudden demonstration of enthusiasm. "It will make quite an impression on the reploid population of Neo Arcadia. For being our first real step, I'd say we are making it count."


	5. Temple of Light

**Temple of Light:**

The mysterious Maverick had been alarmingly active since its sortie at the Disposal Center. A number of small but significant incidents had been tentatively linked back to it, and Harpuia was unsure how to respond. _These incidents are but symptoms of a greater threat. We are facing a foe that doesn't content itself with its meager victories; it prods our defenses for further weaknesses, and hungers for more. Even worse, this Maverick has learned to conceal its identity all too well. We merely see its blade as it emerges from the darkness to strike, while the hand that guides it remains unknown._

Incoming reports from the Intelligence Division supported Harpuia's thesis. Neo Arcadia's right to rule was being challenged, lands previously thought to be at peace were being thrown again into chaos. _No, this can be no ordinary Maverick, I sense an agenda behind its actions. Damage can be repaired, and wounds can be mended; under the guidance of our Master, this planet will become fertile once again. It is the nature of this threat that worries me, we cannot hope to defeat an enemy that doesn't reveal itself._

Solving this dilemma would be difficult. Neo Arcadia possessed strength in ample supply, but tightening security alone wouldn't deter this Maverick from its course. Not against a foe that doubled its efforts where others would have simply fled. _The logic of this Maverick escapes me. To slay it, I must learn what drives it. Anticipate its actions, if necessary. Only then will I be able to strike back. And I'd better be quick about it, lest this whole situation develop into a second blunder._

Ciel's disappearance had turned into a source of embarrassment for the First Guardian; the investigation was officially still in progress, but Harpuia could tell a cold tail from a promising one. _I know Ciel has found what she was after, but not why this Maverick was so important to her. Figuring out the connection between those two is a migraine that refuses to end. I feel like I'm being led astray, there are so many things I don't understand!_

Understanding. That would be the key to solve both problems.

He had a name, courtesy of the Intelligence Division, but little else, their databases offered no results to his queries. A deadlock seemed imminent. Fortunately for Harpuia, Mavericks had a tendency to leave a lasting impression on those who crossed them, and certain individuals in Neo Arcadia had a very long memory. Perhaps it was merely a matter of finding the right person to question. He wouldn't knew it, the answers might prove unsatisfactory. It was a gamble, it always is in these cases. On the other hand, if he managed to get a hint that pointed him in the right direction...

Harpuia's polite request for an audience was immediately granted. Naturally, a commander of his stature needed an adequate escort for his public appearances. Not that there were any risks involved for his person: expecting an attack in such a place was beyond ridiculous; only a suicidal fool would dare to intrude upon Neo Arcadia's sancta sanctorum, where the guards were safer that the very person they were expected to protect.

No, this was entirely a matter of prestige and influence, another type of warfare at which Harpuia excelled. While the First Guardian's authority was almost limitless on matters of war, his side projects for the reconstruction effort were still bound to councils and committees. In the great arena of politics, intimidation was just a weapon like all the others; those he could not conquer with force, he would have to convert through manipulation and charm. Such is the nature of power.

And in the place where he was going there would be plenty of it, even more than Harpuia was used at. Tall and towering like a cathedral of old, no building could match the Temple of Light in majesty or size; and even without dwarfing the adjoining Temple of Wind (no small feat!), a series of structural and engineering expedients guaranteed this building would remain the very heart of Neo Arcadia.

Hegemony over the elements was perhaps the most tangible of these features: a ring of Weather Control Towers ensured that light would always enter through the Temple's many windows. At night, a complex set of projectors illuminated the building, making it a landmark visible from kilometers. Neo Arcadians felt safer under the Temple's light, a second sun that pierced even the darkest shadows; there was reassurance in the certainty that their Patriarch was watching over them as they slept, ever vigilant, in his eternal crusade against the Maverick threat.

All of this was about to change.

* * *

Harpuia and his honor guard stepped down from the high security trans-server, and began lining up. Once they were finished, he ordered the procession to parade towards the main entrance. Standard bearers at the head of the formation, then the First Guardian, and lastly the rank and file. A couple of officers hurried forward to get the glided doors open in time for their commander to pass through: they would repeat this operation for every set of doors they encountered.

Teleportation inside the Temple of Light had been deliberately made impossible as a security measure: all visitors had to be verified in a narthex of sorts, before being admitted in the palace. VIPs, Guardians and their bodyguards were obviously exempt from any screening procedures; therefore, to gain entrance, Harpuia merely had to cross a crowded pleasure garden.

His passage went all but unnoticed by the numerous humans that were present in the garden, and who had come to enjoy the sweet scents hanging in the air: some pointed in his general direction, while others whispered among themselves; in either case, whenever the First Guardian and his escort approached, they quickly moved out of the way. Doubly so for the few reploids, who also averted their gazes.

Harpuia encountered dozens of Pantheons along the way, and yet their number was but a fraction of the many guards that were assigned to that building: there would be more patrols inside the Temple of Light, and they would be better armed; but not Golems, those ruined the flowerbeds and the carpets with their hover engines, and generally made a mess on the marble floors.

* * *

Beyond the massive gates lay the first of many vaulted halls, all covered in magnificent frescoes on their ceilings. Each vault told a tale of the last 150 years' main events: the fragments were framed in chronological order to form an overarching story, a visitor could literally learn as he walked. There wasn't much more knowledge to be acquired in Harpuia's case, his duties as a Guardian often demanded his presence in that palace; still, crossing these halls was an occasion as good as any to revise his own history. The First Guardian briefly glanced upwards, to impress in his memory as many details as he could. Then he diverted his sight to test himself on what he could remember.

First came the Hall of the Creator, where all began. The scene was set in a laboratory of an age past gone: a half-built Reploid was outstretching his incomplete hand at the Man who had just made him. In turn, the Man was stretching his own hand at Megaman X, the two hands almost touching in mid-air. _An old axiom has fallen. Millennia of theology crumbled in front of one simple gesture. Divinity seems surprisingly at hand, now that Man has risen from Creature to Creator._

Awe filled the optics of the Reploid on the workbench, and the eyes of his maker. Besides their earthly similarities, the two beings shared a second, more subtle type of connection. They kept their gazes interlocked, as if they saw a reflection of their own essence in the other. _Reploids inheriting a spark of divinity through their makers, what a fascinating concept._ _That's pretty much all there is to be said, let's move forward._

The second scene could be found in the Hall of the Prophet. An elderly human unearths an ancient capsule containing the Creator's final gift to humanity. Blueprints reverse-engineered from the capsule's only occupant would revolutionize the world, and the Prophet would be hailed as the herald of the Reploid race. A brighter future seemed imminent.

But not all is well.

Ancient powers were also interested in exploiting this discovery for their malevolent ends: a snake has been following the old man, its presence an ill omen of darker times to come. _It is said that maverickism is like a snake: it burrows deeply into the softest ground, where it lies dormant. Watching. Waiting for the right moment to strike. And just as snakes shed their skin, Mavericks present themselves under a thousand different lights. Such is the nature of maverickism, and why it is so difficult to root it out._

Harpuia proceeded into the third room; the Hall of the Vile Maverick, as it was known. " _The Destiny of all Mavericks", more likely. An even better title would be "The reason why all Mavericks have such a short lifespan". It can't get much more accurate than that._

At the center of the scene, atop a pile of dead Mavericks, stood Megaman X, one hand on his weapon and fierce determination in his eyes. No safety in numbers, for the Mavericks: the X Buster was incandescent for the effort of slaying them, a trail of smoke coming out from its barrel.

From the cooling remnants of a Maverick with a "V" shaped helmet slithered a snake, no doubt intent to find another victim to bite with the sweet poison of maverickism. Death and defeat were the only things it would find, however, for Megaman X had already raised one foot, and was set to crush the insidious snake's head with it. _Whenever Mavericks rise from their ashes, be it in a painting or in real life, a champion shall cast them again into the dust. Eternal vigilance against the Maverick threat: that's what Neo Arcadia stands for._

Harpuia was now halfway through, in the next room he would find the Hall of the Reploid Messiah. It was a heated scene of battle, Megaman X was struggling against the Maverick known as Zero; the outcome of this duel would seal the fate of the Maverick Wars. _Zero. The very Maverick I am after. How strange to immortalize a figure with such negative connotations. Am I to read a hint of respect in this decision?_

Whereas the others had been mostly static, there was a unique dynamism in this scene. Megaman X, fully clad in his Ultimate Armor, had foregone his ranged attacks for hand-to-hand combat. _A tactically suicidal decision, but I guess the intent was to show how high the stakes were in this battle. Were those two any closer, they would kiss._ _But, of course, we can't talk about artistic liberties without mentioning Zero and the way he is portrayed. That Maverick is…well…_

The artist who had painted this fresco had abandoned all pretenses of verisimilitude, and decided to represent Zero as a fiery daemon of flesh and bone. Sharped claws clashed against clenched fists, as the two combatants traded blows in a surprising violent display of raw strength. To underline the finality of that battle, Zero's talons were ripping Megaman X's armor apart as if it was made of paper.

 _I have seen the effects of Zero's "talons" on the Ultimate Armor. They battered it so badly that it lasted for exactly one mission._ Which was a shame, because before passing through that crucible, it must have truly been a magnificent suit of armor. What was left of it could now be seen on display in the adjoining Museum of the Armors. (Open from Monday to Friday, don't forget to pick up a free toy gift if you have any children)

And the rest was history. Maverick dogmas often prattled about the coming of a "Reploid Messiah", a figure that would lead its followers to ever-greater heights of power and prosperity. With his triumph over Zero, Megaman X turned this prophecy upside down, and claimed the mantle of Reploid Messiah for himself.

Harpuia left the Hall of the Reploid Messiah and entered into the fifth room, the Hall of the Lightbringer. He was moving into recent history, the prelude to the Elf Wars: Commander X, now in his Seraph Armor, was casting the Lightbringer down from a tower into the flames below. _The Lightbringer is obviously a metaphor for the second-generation reploids and their inevitable fall into maverickism, hence the flames of damnation._

 _This representation is too allegorical for my tastes; not to mention that it is factually incorrect, the Seraph Armor was discovered much later that this artist would let us believe._ _But such mistakes are irrelevant. Accurately portraying the mentality of the time? Now that is an enormous display of negligence._ New Generation Reploids had committed a crime in the eyes of Man. That crime was sin. Sin begets punishment, and their sentence was death. A champion of mankind was tasked to deliver that punishment. And so Death came to them on wings of fire.

 _Thirst for blood is real. Accursed buildings spread like fungi, because of it. And for all the talk of righteousness, only terrible injustices came out of it. Elf Wars is a misnomer, none of these… massacres… were about cyber-elves. How easy it is to forget the unpleasant parts of our history. How…convenient._

That last thought surprised Harpuia; it came with a bitter aftertaste. Unwillingly, he had turned an innocent remark into something more than an observation. It felt dangerously closer to an accusation. He quickly dismissed that thought before it could gather any more ground. _Bah. I don't want to think about it. We are almost there, only one more room in between._

The Hall of the New Dawn, when Commander X officially disbanded the Maverick Hunters with all honors. It was the only scene of celebration in the palace, the participants were raising chalices of stem glass to commemorate the ascension of a new world power and its most prominent architect. Master X, at the center of the scene as always, was setting the first stone of what would become Neo Arcadia. Behind him were the Four Guardians, the true heirs of the Maverick Hunters. _Unsurprisingly, this is my favorite fresco. How heartwarming to see yourself become part of History, to know you have shaped it with your very words and actions. It feels good being able to say: "There! That's where I was on that fateful day! I made my part in something greater than me, and I'm proud of it!"._

Besides the neo-elected Master of Neo Arcadia and his Four Guardians, there were the Maverick Hunters, battle-hardened reploids who had retired to private life after seeing the end of their service. Some of these veterans of the Elf Wars were quite famous, but none of them appeared here. Probably because the artist had drawn inspiration from images of generic reploids to represent the members of this venerable organization.

But this fresco wasn't all about reploids. Humans too were among the celebrants: and these men and women were hardly common folk, they were all former leaders of dissolved human nations. _Few would recognize these humans without a history book in hand; they all died of old age a long time ago. But the message remains clear: the past has to make way for a new future. For a New Dawn._

Lastly came the bureaucrats: Neo Arcadia may have been built by the efforts of reploids in arms, but it required a civilian administration to bring order and legitimacy to their conquests. Thus, a heterogeneous collection of accountants and administrators had been tasked with the thankless job of tending to the countless needs of a planet-spanning empire. Harpuia had already seen some of these bureaucrats in the previous halls, as they wandered around the palace to perform their functions; no doubts he would meet more of them in the next room. In fact, he could already hear their droning even before the last set of doors opened, so loud were they talking.

The last doors revealed no seventh hall. This was a room where History had not happened, but was being made. The First Guardian saw three symbols arranged in a triangle. The logo of Dr. Light Industries on the lower left corner, symbolizing power over Reploids. Then, at the same height on the other side, the old symbol of the Maverick Hunters, power over Mavericks. Lastly, at the very top, the flag of Neo Arcadia. Power over Humans.

Together, the three symbols drew the eye towards a throne that sat upon a dais. Its occupant was beset on all sides by a horde of human postulants, and was constantly splitting his attention between them; a task that required infinite patience, no doubt. The Patriarch of Neo Arcadia might have ruled an empire, but even he needed bureaucrats to actually run it. As he and his escort approached the throne, Harpuia recognized most of these figures from past interactions. Some of them, he would hardly praise in private. While the figureheads were mostly content to stay put, it would take an exceptional person of unique vision to force the skilled and the ambitious to work in concert for a common cause.

Mere meters separated Harpuia from one such individual.

The standard bearers lowered their flagpoles as a sign of respect. At the same time, the First Guardian and his honor guard bowed deeply at the being that resided on the throne. The One and Only; the Savior of Mankind, to name but two of his many titles. Less formally, he was known as Neo Arcadia's founder, and its main source of stability.

"Master X. Again I thank you for this honor you gave me."

He had spoken loudly and with purpose; suddenly, all the petty concerns in the humans' heads evaporated like snow in the sun. Silence fell in the room. The Patriarch of Neo Arcadia lost interest in his postulants, and focused his attention on the newcomers. Harpuia felt the all eyes of the presents upon him. Still on his knees, he addressed a less formal greeting to his Master's advisor, the reploid who faithfully stood guard at his side. The final line of defense. The Last Guardian.

"General Phantom. Good to see you again."

Hidden Phantom did not reply, but slightly inclined his head as a sign of acknowledgement.

The Patriarch of Neo Arcadia tilted his head sharply: understanding the meaning of the gesture, the bureaucrats bowed reverently and left the room through the side doors; Harpuia's honor guard followed their example: this was a private audience after all, they would have to wait for their commander outside.

All doors finally closed with a sonorous clang. Only three reploids remained in the room. Satisfied with this outcome, Megaman X allowed himself a few instants to recover his sanity from so much pointless chatter. Once he finished recollecting his thoughts, he broke this brief moment of peace with a question.

"Greetings, Harpuia. How may I help?"


	6. The Legendary Maverick

**The Legendary Maverick:**

"Master, I have been investigating the latest raids around the capital."

Raids. Harpuia had chosen that word carefully to downplay the amount of damage inflicted. But while even a random trans-server in the middle of nowhere could be passed as "a site of strategic importance" with enough imagination, the Underground Prison and the Disposal Center were military facilities. And they had been both rendered inoperative, one more reason why all of this should remain unsaid.

"We have made some progress in identifying the culprit. I have a report." he concluded, in an attempt to distract his listeners from dwelling on the unpleasant parts.

The expression on his master's face was indecipherable. But then, Megaman X had never been an easy reploid to read. "Let's hear it."

"Our informants among the Reploid population have mentioned a recurring name. It was one of your old enemies, Master: the Maverick known as Zero."

"Now that's a name I haven't heard in a while." X commented in a flat tone. If there was any surprise at this revelation, he was hiding it well. "How did you learn of him?"

 _Great. Ciel. That woman was the last person I wanted to mention._ "From a deserter, Master. My men found a reploid capsule in an abandoned laboratory while in pursuit of the fleeting Dr. Ciel. At first, we didn't even knew what that capsule was; only after the raids began, did we learn of what it contained. Unfortunately, we lost contact with the team sent to investigate the laboratory; a cave-in occurred, the capsule in question lies buried under tons of rock. I have already dispatched several excavation teams to salvage what we could, but the recovery process is proceeding…slowly." _And Levi is still mad at me for losing her specialist._

Megaman X tilted his head at the reploid by his side; the Last Guardian nodded once, leaving Harpuia wondering what sort of unspoken conversation had just happened between Hidden Phantom and his master.

"Your report is late, Harpuia." Nope. Not fooled for even a second. "Phantom has already made me aware of the dissent Zero is spreading throughout the reploid population. Together, we have prepared a dossier containing all the information you need to know to fight him effectively; which, I assume, is the reason you came here for."

"The relevant files" X raised his right hand as if he were giving a blessing "are being uploaded at your office terminal as we speak. I think you'll find them very detailed. I also know that, alone, these documents won't allow you to see this task through to its end: some explanations mean nothing, if those who offer them withhold mentioning how they came to their answers. You will need a frame of reference to fully grasp the bigger picture. That context is what I intend to give you."

"But first…" Megaman X stood up from his throne. Cables detached from his limbs and returned to their recesses, as the Master of Neo Arcadia descended towards a small table half hidden by a row of columns. "Come." he motioned Harpuia to follow. "Join me. We have much to discuss, and my throat is running dry." Refusing this invitation was not really an option. The First Guardian followed his master to the refreshment table, where guests could bide their time while they waited for their turn to speak.

Form X's behavior to his choice of location, everything suggested this would be a very one-sided exchange, and a rather intimate at that. Hidden Phantom remained at his place next to the throne; this conversation was between Megaman X and Harpuia only: if his master ever needed the Last Guardian's opinion, he would ask for it.

Megaman X poured a liquid into a cup, and passed it to Harpuia, who was forced to accept it even he wasn't thirsty. The Master of Neo Arcadia then poured a second cup for himself. He took a sip, and this gesture was immediately replicated by a reluctant First Guardian, now stuck with a beverage he didn't even want to drink. He would have discretely thrown it away, but there were no pots in range.

The liquid had a sweet smell, and came with a sugary aftertaste; it must had been an energizer of some sorts. "Hmmm. It has become warm." X commented. "Oh, well. Chilling it a bit shouldn't be a problem." The Master of Neo Arcadia activated his X-Buster, and pointed it at his drink.

Plop.

Plop.

Plop. Ice cubes began falling into the liquid.

"Now. As I was saying, Zero was many things."

"Zero was power. His creator had meant him for greatness of a kind that could only be achieved through struggle. He had armed him accordingly, but Zero was more than a blunt instrument of war. Conflict…empowered him. It shaped him into a warrior with an indomitable will. Zero will not stop fighting, ever, until the last of his enemies has been destroyed. Underestimate him, and you will regret it." _A warning, but not a completely unexpected one. Zero will be a tenacious opponent._

A second sip. Megaman X seemed content with the new temperature of his drink. "Much better! Let's continue."

"Zero was a fanatic. I mentioned before that Zero was a warrior to the core, but at times he seemed driven more by devotion than mere zeal. Compromises were not in his nature, Zero made no distinction between his beliefs and his battles. Those he deemed unworthy quickly fell under his merciless judgement. It is difficult to convey obsessions with words, so I'll just say this: Zero's willingness to play martyr makes him predictable, and thus easily blinded or sidetracked. This is a weakness I suggest you to exploit. But we'll get back to that later."

The third sip came with a mischievous smile. "The last one will surprise you. Zero was… a companion. "

"What?"

"Zero has been my companion for thirty years. Give or take. Wait, let me reiterate. The Patriarch of Neo Arcadia bonded with a known Maverick for thirty years. Thirty. Can you imagine how much my authority would be undermined, if word ever came out of it?" By the face Harpuia made, he could very well imagine it. Were his hand not so clenched by the shock, he would have dropped his cup.

"This shouldn't come as a surprise, but not even the Maverick Hunters were immune to the curse of maverickism. And Zero was, indeed, a Maverick Hunter. One of their best, even, and this isn't a compliment I give lightly. He was my mentor. My advisor, a shoulder to lean on. In his last years he became my confidant. This made his fall all the more painful."

One small pause to commemorate the reopening of an old wound. Megaman X remained thoughtful for a moment.

"I won't bore you with the details, you already know how it ended. The surprising part is that not even Death could get the last word over Zero. My old mentor had always had a strange relationship with Death; he sought to embrace it, yet somehow always ended up a step ahead of it. How he did that will remain one of the greatest mysteries unsolved." _I have heard of Mavericks that could regenerate even from the most grievous injuries. Please don't tell me I have to kill Zero more than once…_

"Anyway. As a unique prototype, Zero's body was a treasure trove of experimental components, so naturally others came and tried to steal his secrets. Death claimed most of them, but a renegade scientist managed to recover some of these parts without falling victim to his own hubris. This reploid intended to extract Zero's DNA data to create superior Mavericks." A forgotten tale set right after the Maverick Wars? Now this was starting to get interesting. Harpuia had never heard of this story, but he was already starting to see where it was going.

"I presume these new Mavericks were nowhere as powerful as this scientist had hoped."

"Calling any of them mighty would be generous at best." X replied dismissively. "It took me very little effort to retire these supposedly superior creations. Mistaking raw strength for power was a clear miscalculation on the scientist's part. His second mistake was underestimating me again. He had prepared a contingency plan, but I stopped him before he could enact it. Then, once the dust settled, I found this."

Megaman X switched the cup on his other hand: as he did so, he opened his palm, activating the holoprojectors on his fingertips. The light beams began forming a figure, a cylinder of sorts; completely sealed, impossible to see what was inside. The dangling cables and the way they were connected to the object brought back some vague memories in Harpuia's mind; the First Guardian could swear he had already seen this cylinder before. "Tell me, do you recognize this device? I believe you already encountered one before, although I doubt it was anywhere in such a good condition…"

"The reploid capsule in the abandoned laboratory!" Harpuia concluded, as he finally connected the dots. No wonder the object seemed so familiar. "Master, are you telling me that the scientist tried to have Zero rebuilt?"

"Correct. This capsule contained a heavily modified version of Zero from whatever parts the scientist could find, I recognized him only from the insignias on the chassis. No doubt that renegade had intended to use Zero against me. It wouldn't be the first time. One close encounter with my X-Buster later, I was left with a dilemma."

Another sip. Harpuia had yet to touch his drink again.

"Imagine yourself alone with a Maverick that is of no immediate threat to you. He's asleep. Completely defenseless. Duty demands you to bring him to justice. Keep in mind that we still arrested Mavericks at the time; modern shoot-on-sight policies came much later, with the Elf Wars. Let's assume you follow the most logical course of action: someone else handles it, you get a pat on the back for a job well done. Chapter closed."

"However, that particular Maverick has earned some degree of respect in your eyes. Maybe it is out of past allegiances; bonds forged in fire and blood are notoriously difficult to break. Maybe he has impressed you so favorably that likening him to any other Maverick would be a disservice. His life is in your hands. You feel conflicted. What would you do?"

Seldom had Harpuia found himself at such a loss for words. X eventually offered an answer the First Guardian could not provide. "That day, I decided to spare Zero's life. Was that the right decision to make? I can't say, I only knew there was no longer place for Zero in this world. On that count, our most recent events have proven me right."

Another pause. Megaman X finished his drink in one swallow; he then threw his cup in a small recycling bin under the refreshment table. Bullseye.

"I think I can put together the last pieces, Master. You transferred Zero's capsule to a safe location, a hidden laboratory that you intended to become his new prison." Megaman X nodded in confirmation, urging Harpuia to continue. "And he has remained there until Dr. Ciel came. Forgive me, but I must ask: why did you hid this information from us?"

"Because I thought it was no longer relevant, obviously. The Maverick Wars ended decades ago, it seemed reasonable to assume Zero dead and buried. My only mistake was underestimating Ciel's resolve; that woman stole many secrets, when she left us. It seems my…resurrection was more costly than I thought."

 _So Ciel learned of Zero from the data she gathered during her previous project. Interesting._ "We have yet to finish our estimates on the damage Dr. Ciel has caused us with her escapade, Master. But I am more worried on what that Maverick has taken from her. Intel suggested Ciel might be under coercion; Zero is manipulating her to feed him with the information he needs for his raids."

Unconditional gratitude was an unthinkable concept for a Maverick; if Ciel was still alive, as Harpuia suspected, it was only because she possessed valuable information, that she traded to buy additional sand for her hourglass. No telling how long until the Maverick would stop selling her any. _Foolish girl who seeks the company of a Maverick, did you hope you could exert some sort of control over it? Pray you will never discover how easily candle flames can be extinguished._

Megaman X seemed particularly baffled by this last statement, as if Harpuia had just drawn some highly improbable conclusion. "I see why you might think that," he began "but it is just wrong. Some clarification is in order. Otherwise, what I am going to say next will make absolutely no sense."

It was the First Guardian's turn to not understand what the other was saying. X continued with his explanation. "Rulers divide reploids in two categories: those who command, and those who obey; Zero belonged to the latter. It follows that he can't be the mind behind the attacks; methodical planning was hardly his specialty."

 _Wait, Zero is not an independent actor? Is this threat rooted deeper than I thought?_ "I had assumed Zero only followed his own agenda. Am I to think of him as a mere executor, then? A tool for a third party who has yet to reveal itself?"

X's enigmatic smile could have had a thousand different meanings. "Exceptional warriors don't necessarily make for good commanders: if Zero were in charge of our logistics, we'd be paralyzed within the hour. Let's just say he has found people who appreciate his unique set of talents."

If any of this was supposed to dissolve Harpuia's doubts, then it didn't work.

"What kind of schemers could be interested in maneuvering a Maverick this overtly? Why ruin their greatest asset, the secrecy of their operations? And how could they get in contact with Zero so quickly?" _I wouldn't be surprised if Phantom had a mild power core failure, when he discovered his prized Intelligence Division failed to even notice this threat._

It seemed Megaman X was having the time of his life. Harpuia was unsure whether he should feel more ashamed for missing an obviousness that seemed clear to everyone but him, or more insulted that his master was purposefully withholding the answer. "You are overthinking this issue, Harpuia. Didn't I mention it before that Zero was a fanatic? Narrow-minded reploids are easily swayed. It only takes the right woman."

Comprehension finally dawned on Harpuia. The volume of his reaction startled Hidden Phantom on the other side of the room. "Ciel is the one who is calling the shots?! Unbelievable…"

"Now you understand why I wouldn't worry about Ciel's safety." X said, as he motioned Harpuia to follow him back towards his throne. In response, the First Guardian swallowed as much of his drink as he could without throwing it up; he then tossed the rest in the recycling bin. "Zero himself will ensure no harm comes to her. Not even maverickism can completely overwrite certain quirks of a reploid's personality."

The two reploids reached the bottom of the throne's staircase, but only Megaman X would ascend; protocol demanded postulants to remain below the first step. "Master! It is imperative that we find out the extent of Ciel's responsibilities! We must make an example out of her!"

Megaman X did not reply immediately; instead, he reached his seat of power and sat. Cables from his throne began slithering on his body, heading towards sockets on his arms, his back and his head. The Master of Neo Arcadia was reconnecting with his empire, his still body now writhing with invisible energies. Immeasurable quantities of data flowed through his processors. Each thought was a command; armies moved at his every gesture.

Only arcane sciences could allow such technological marvels; yet, it was not awe that filled those who witnessed all this power made manifest. Somehow, Neo Arcadia's throne exacted a toll on its user. It marked him, and the signs of this burden were all too visible for everyone to see. Few remembered when the damage first appeared; fewer still could tell how deep the scars ran, or why. But all agreed on the obvious: the Master of Neo Arcadia was in agony.

When Megaman X answered, his voice was faint but firm. "Ciel will be punished. How harshly will remain at my discretion."

 _Why is Master X so willing to bend our laws for her?! I know his mandate grants him large discretional powers, but this is hardly a matter of petty theft!_ "She has committed crimes against the State!"

"My policies on matters of law have not changed, Harpuia." The Master of Neo Arcadia replied coldly, his tone a warning for the First Guardian to not overstep his bounds. "Humans do not belong in the death row. Especially when this nation may greatly benefit from their researches."

 _Ah. The new energy system. That would explain it. Of course, getting Ciel to resume her work is an entirely different matter. But I still think we are being too lenient. Perhaps I should try approaching the problem from a different angle…_ "What if she proves uncooperative? Ciel has already defied us once, she could do it again."

"Worry not, Ciel will find herself restricted in many of her previous liberties until she delivers. A life sentence in all but name, essentially." Megaman X could evidently tell that Harpuia was all but satisfied with the answer, because he quickly added. "I know we can't force her to work, but we're not complete fools either. My official pardon will be the incentive she needs to finish her research. Think of it as a chance for redemption."

We would keep her in a gilded cage, then? An unorthodox solution… but it makes sense. What about Zero?"

"Terminate him."

X's answer took aback Harpuia. It came suddenly, and offered no explanations for this sudden outburst of aggressiveness.

"Terminate him with extreme prejudice."

This second statement further reinforced his point. Megaman X stared at Harpuia expectantly, and the First Guardian knew no more answers would be provided. He could only bow, submitting to his master's will.

"Alright. I'll do it."

* * *

The doors closed behind Harpuia with a sonorous clang, Megaman X took a mental note to have a good locksmith come and look at them. To have malfunctioning doors within the Temple of Light (of all places!) was simply inacceptable. But any worries about losses of prestige were merely a secondary concern, X knew his postulants would be back soon. They were never far. For the second time, he tilted his head to the reploid at his side.

"There is something you wish to say."

Hidden Phantom tensed at this statement. He wasn't expecting this question.

"Say it, Phantom."

"Master, sparing Zero's life was a mistake."

The Master of Neo Arcadia sighted in agreement. "I have been wondering whether I should have destroyed him since his return. I knew what Zero could do if he ever came back, yet I still hesitated. What logic would you have followed?"

"The cold logic of pragmatism. There is a reason why lost legends should remain lost. Better they die, at the height of their fame, than live to disappoint those who once looked upon them for inspiration."

Megaman X recognized the accusation concealed within Phantom's words. "Reading between the lines, you are implying I took an arbitrary decision under the influence of our common past. And you would be right. Because a Reploid is more than the sum of his components; only machines are never plagued by self-doubt. Do you think my hands were not shaking when they sealed Zero away, possibly forever? I, who have cleansed this world of more Mavericks than I can remember, could barely see straight on that day, so watery were my optics."

"It is said that we are shaped by the decisions we take: mine taught me a lesson that would prove invaluable in the near future, while we still ignored how closely new tragedies loomed above us. I learned what had to be cast aside to set the foundations of an empire, no matter how close Zero or other reploids were to my person. I became much more assertive, for once; humans and reploids flocked to me the moment darker clouds started to gather."

"Speaking of the Elf Wars: our archives on that period are dreadfully empty." Phantom said, indirectly pointing out that X was withholding information. Again.

"You are worried we might run into more horrors from those wars, only to find ourselves unprepared to face them." A perfectly fine reason to be alarmed, given the relative proximity of one of said dangers. But that was best left unsaid. "To preempt your follow-up question: yes, there are secrets of which not even the Four Guardians are privy to. I have buried them so that they might not be found, because they provide answers no self-respecting person should wish to know. Here's an old axiom that, to this day, still rings true: no victory can come without new weapons, new lies, and new sacrifices."

"The Blood of the Reploids is the Seed of Neo Arcadia." Phantom quoted "Now I see that there is more to our official motto than I first thought."

In fact, there was much more than what the Last Guardian first thought. He felt as if a veil had been suddenly removed from his eyes, only to reveal a terrible truth concealed underneath. Anyone else would have remained silent, too fearful of asking such a forbidden question. Instead, Hidden Phantom sought confirmation to dissolve a doubt that had been eroding at him for too long.

"Is that the fate that befell the Maverick Hunters, then? The reason why you will not tolerate to hear them mentioned? Have they too been sacrificed on the great altar upon which you built our nation?"

The Master of Neo Arcadia jumped at this unexpected display of boldness, as if Hidden Phantom had struck him with one of his many knives. His subsequent glare was more poisonous than any concoction the master assassin could ever hope to brew. But the Last Guardian had already made up his mind: he wouldn't avert his gaze; he would stare right into the eyes of his master, challenging him to answer, no matter how clenched his fists were.

The two reploids stared at each other, daring the other to back down. Flatterers, sycophants and other boot-lickers would claim that Fefnir has inherited the eyes of his progenitor. Only, Fefnir's eyes were never this full of harshness. The Fire Guardian could be fierce, but he was not a fanatic. His power did not come out of hatred.

For the first time, the Last Guardian saw an aspect of his master that he kept for himself.

This battle of wills couldn't go on forever. One participant had to relent, it was inevitable. Eventually, with unexpected surprise from his opponent, Megaman X averted his gaze: in doing so, he conceded his defeat. The contest had ended. Phantom had obtained his answer, though partial it may be. Inwardly, the Last Guardian took a sigh of relief. The Master of Neo Arcadia was notoriously slow to anger, but his fury was terrible to withstand. Better to placate him now, while there was still time.

"…I think I understand, Master."


	7. DX0451

**DX0451:**

The Planning Room reminded Colbor of a closet.

A very tidy closet, he had to concede, it was the most orderly room in the entire Resistance base. In another life, it must have been a small storehouse. Its resident and owner too seemed to have come out of those times. He was of a strange breed, this reploid who felt comfortable among the shelters: he had left his previous life behind, but behaved as if he still was within civilization. Trimmed. Well-dressed. Neat. How else to describe a reploid who sought to look dashing even in the face of annihilation?

As Colbor approached, the room's only occupant smiled. "Ah, Colbor! Yet another wronged son of Neo Arcadia that will help me bring down its walls!" He offered him his hand to shake. Colbor accepted it, and was rewarded with a flaccid grip that lacked conviction. The hands of a pencil-pusher, if he were to take a guess: from the lowest menials to the most brilliant scientists, without forgetting the mechanics, the musicians and the cooks, the Resistance was composed of reploids from all social strata. Only the humans were absent. Well, almost absent.

The other reploid flinched under Colbor's strong grip; in doing so, he confirmed his suspicions: he must had come from a moderately comfortable life, one that followed its own distinct, if alien, rituals. Hence the elegance. The eloquence. The small gestures to make guests feel welcome. Nothing of this resonated particularly well with a straightforward reploid like Colbor. Still, even though they clearly had next to nothing in common, that was no reason to be impolite.

"What can I do for you, Elpizo?"

The Quartermaster smiled again; a gesture that he would repeat many times throughout the exchange. "I need volunteers for a little expedition. I know a few supply depots whose content will help us immeasurably."

"You want me to raid a Neo Arcadian depot?" Colbor asked, his curiosity piqued at such an audacious prospect.

"Precisely. I've come up with a plan that will make our lives a lot less miserable. Come, I'll show you." Elpizo led Colbor to a table where leaflets lay scattered. Ancient tourist maps, their pages turned yellow under the unrelenting passage of time. Inaccurate for pointing at landmarks that no longer existed. Outdated by every account. Yet even in their current state, these worthless trinkets could still be of some use.

The buildings may have not survived the Elf Wars, but the disposition of the roads had not changed in the last fifty years. Navigating the ruins was merely a matter of following the right directions, and that was why the members of the Resistance made an effort to recover these maps whenever they stumbled upon one. Then there were those like Elpizo, overachievers who couldn't content themselves with the scraps of the old world and, in their effort to help the Resistance cause, sought to leave their mark.

Quite literally, in this case.

Together with some adjutants, the Quartermaster had assembled all the spare maps he could find, and plotted a much larger one, painstakingly detailed with all the available intel. They had done a good work, Colbor had to admit. At the same time, as the mastermind behind all that effort, Elpizo had ensured that all future operations would be passing through him. Hence his appointment to his current position. The Quartermaster pointed his finger at a location on the map. "The military installation you are looking at is DX0451, a pre-war supply depot located just past this railway bridge. It lies in the outskirts, which means it will be lightly guarded. But! More importantly, it is poorly connected."

Elpizo's smile widened, as he darted his finger around the map. "See how far it is from the nearby outposts in the sector? If you can secure the local trans-server, we'll have more than enough time to loot the depot clean before Neo Arcadia can even respond. To summarize. Your mission is to infiltrate DX0451 and establish a connection between our base and the local trans-server. We want the latter intact because we'll need it to invade the depot, and to transport back any goods we capture. Your part is technically done at this point, but you can remain and help the assault squad secure the perimeter. I'll leave that at your discretion."

"That's basically it." Elpizo concluded "Are you up for it, Colbor?"

An easy mission with next to no downsides? That seemed a bit too convenient. Colbor decided it was best to play it cautious. "I don't know, Elpizo. We'd be taking the scale of our operations up a notch. I can't deny the perspective of a hot meal and a comfy bed sounds tempting…but I am wary of Neo Arcadia's retribution. They have tolerated us because we are few and far, but we should not mistake their patience for weakness."

Elpizo dropped his smile for the first time. "Colbor. The whole point of this operation is to gather the supplies we need to leave this hole. Ciel has done a tremendous job at getting us this far, but the more we grow in numbers, the more this whole "reploid shelter" gets…well, unsustainable. The Resistance may be made of civilians, but as a whole we are a military organization. We NEED to find a base worthy of our cause. In time, Ciel will see that I was right."

He had a point. The Resistance had grown well beyond what Ciel had originally intended. They had turned from activists into insurgents, from scavengers into soldiers. Colbor himself had taken his fair share of loot from Neo Arcadian patrols. It was inevitable. How else was he supposed to survive in a world where nothing grew? Now Elpizo was asking him to continue providing supplies, only on a much larger scale.

"Hmm. One question, Quartermaster: I only know how to use a gun. How am I supposed to hack a trans-server?"

"No worries, we got you covered. You'll need some hardware." Elpizo reached into his pocket, where he pulled out a small item that could fit into his palm. He passed it to Colbor for safekeeping. The reploid turned the device around, studying it.

"A pen drive? What am I supposed to do with it?"

"Just plug it into the trans-server." the Quartermaster explained "It contains a virus that will render it completely unusable. To everyone but the right people, of course! You know, reploids like us. I wanted to use a Cyber Elf, but Ciel insisted one of her programs could achieve the same result."

Ah. So Ciel herself was aware of this plan. That meant she trusted Elpizo. Surely she wouldn't have lent him her indirect support, if she didn't believe in his ability to handle such a delicate operation?

"Another question: this depot, this…DX0451. How do we get there? What path shall we take?"

"Do you remember when I mentioned that the depot is connected to the old railway network? Just follow the tracks, and they will guide you towards your destination. It's mostly underground, anyway, you shouldn't have any problems there." Again, Elpizo was correct. There would be no problems in the underground section. But Colbor would emerge at the beginning of a large railway crossing, that sat not on the ground, but was suspended upon a series of bridges.

"This railway switch." he pointed at it to draw the Quartermaster's attention "It's in the open. I can't ask my men to cross an open space without any buildings for cover, we would be completely exposed!"

"Why not?" Elpizo insisted "Just use the bridge itself for cover. If you think this will slow you down, just tell me how much time you need to get to the depot; we can plan around that."

"Lack of cover isn't something we can just overlook." Colbor began, but Elpizo forestalled him before he could finish. "Listen, Colbor. I know this plan may sound less than ideal to you, but the Resistance has needs, and they can't wait, so we have to take what we find. There will be obstacles to overcome, yes. Nothing new about it. We've been doing it since day one, when we broke the chains that bound us to Neo Arcadia. And we've become stronger for it! Now that we are being presented with an opportunity to assert our self-determination, I ask you: do you have the strength to take what should be rightfully ours?"

There was no denying the logic behind Elpizo's argument. Like it or not, the Resistance had material needs, its survival depended on a constant flux of stolen supplies. Colbor understood this, and these necessities made his reservations buckle under the Quartermaster's pressure. He would provide those supplies. His only hope was that he would not live to regret this decision.

"I'll do it. But I hope you know what you're doing." Elpizo accepted Colbor's capitulation with his most practiced smile. Colbor pocketed the pen drive; the Quartermaster took it as a sign that the exchange was over.

"Good luck, Colbor, I look forward to your success."

* * *

It was no secret that Neo Arcadia was a demanding mistress towards her Reploid children. Doubly so when Mavericks were involved. Those who could not serve in her armies, for one reason or another, still had to contribute to the war effort. For the guards stationed at supply depot DX0451, that contribution was a surprisingly dull affair.

Clock in at the beginning of your shift. Watch over a bunch of crates until the end of it. Wonder if anyone actually bothers reading the attendance register. Clock out. Repeat the same established routine at another time. Hope you like dice and cards, because those two are the most action you'll ever see in a depot where the occasional shipment to unload is reason enough to get excited.

That had been the case, until it no longer was.

It all started when the trans-server activated itself, only to start barking orders. Surprise inspection at such an unlikely hour? That didn't seem the case, these officers were too high-ranked to conduct these things in person. But while it was not clear why so many of them had suddenly decided to show up unannounced, they were making no mystery of what they wanted.

"The gate! You need to open the railway gate!"

"A convoy is coming! What are you waiting for? Open the gate!"

A bit too nervous these officers, they must have been on a pretty tight schedule. They want their gate open? Fine. Routine procedures are set aside, everyone scrambles to make them happy. It's not like there is much else to do in the depot, this little distraction will do wonders for morale.

Gates are opened, everyone is lined up and ready on the platform. A deep whistle is heard in the distance, closing fast: even the source of all this ruckus seems to be in a hurry.

Soon, an armored train shows up. An unusually long convoy, for a depot of this size: the main gate will have to remain open, if it can't fit inside fully. But this is a secondary concern for the men on the platform: what matters is the number of hours needed to get this train unloaded.

"Look at all those wagons. Say, how many of them do you think there are?"

"Too many. If you want a number, my E-crystals are on ten."

"Only ten? Why don't you try and double that?"

"I say we're looking at fifteen wagons…no, wait. Let's make that twenty. Filled to the brim with every sort of back-breaking equipment, obviously. We can't have the poor guards get too comfortable; that would be too convenient!"

"Look, can we at least pretend we won't be here until next morning?"

"Pretend what you want. Just don't come to me complaining when your back starts to hurt!"

Numbers may differ, but the conclusions drawn are all the same. Too many. There are just too many wagons. An all-nighter is inevitable, the guards don't even try to hide their disappointment. They complain, loudly, until their leader decides he's had enough of this whining. Roll up those sleeves, he says with a few "chosen" words, there is work to be done! Additional swearing ensures, but by the time the convoy has fully stopped, the men are already willing to comply. Imagine, then, their surprise when the armored doors opened, and the cargo started unloading itself.

The first to descend were the Pantheons: between all wagons, there were more foot soldiers than the small depot could ever hope to hold (unlike crates, robots can't be stacked vertically). Under the direction of some officers, most Pantheons began establishing a defensive perimeter outside the walls. Those few Pantheons who had a jetpack took flight towards an unknown destination; their remaining idle comrades followed them on foot.

Then came the Golems, cumbersome war machines that required their own kind of wagons. Significantly more autonomous than the unreliable Pantheons, the armored fist of Neo Arcadia commanded respect by simply towering above pretty much everything else. As they too assumed position outside the complex, many reploids flattened themselves against the walls to let them pass.

Then came the fancy toys. Computer racks for data analysis. Monitors of all shapes for their operators. Portable generators to meet the increased power demands. Satellite dishes to remotely access the military network. A conference table that doubled as a HD map display, updated in real time. Portable coffee machine, twelve different blends.

And, of course, a small army of engineers and technicians to set up all this equipment. Under the eyes of the bewildered depot guards, who had yet to do any actual work, the newcomers began unraveling several meters of cable, connecting it to the machines they had just finished unloading.

"The commanding officer of this depot. Where is he?"

If it seems too good to be true, it probably is. The spell broke when a stern voice reminded the guards of their duties. Their commander turned towards this latest newcomer, a reploid who was not the venerable Master of Neo Arcadia, but might as well be.

"Lord Guardian! We…uh…are honored by your presence." he managed to splutter before he could recompose himself "We were…err.. not expecting your visit, sir. Is there anything we could do to aid you in your functions?"

Sage Harpuia measured up the reploids in front of him, while pretending not to see those who were discretely trying to smarten up. He could tell his arrival had shaken their small little world: no doubt they were wondering what kind of emergency would require the presence of a Guardian at such a remote outpost. That answer would have to wait. He was under no obligation to justify his actions.

"Get my men comfortable. This is going to be a long day."

* * *

This was all Elpizo's fault.

"Colbor! There's a roadblock up ahead!"

"If they see us we're dead. We'll have to flank them!"

Unsupported.

"Heads-up! Pantheon Aces incoming!"

"Again?!"

In the open.

"Enemy reinforcements are almost upon us!"

"Keep moving! We have to keep moving!"

Deep behind enemy lines.

No time to stay and fight. Reploids just ran while praying not to get caught in the crossfire.

Death was in no rush to collect these reploids. It teased them, every step taken brought the promise of a little respite, a few more seconds of clinging to dear life. But Colbor knew this was all an illusion, a step forward meant only being one more step further away from the Resistance base. From home. From his other friends his blind trust could not manage to get killed.

They were running on borrowed time. Drunk in their own desperation, fatigue no longer troubled them. They were swifter on their feet, and truer in their aim. Fear had turned these reploids into better killers: as their enemies fell before them, they never felt more alive.

Until even that edge was no longer enough.

"Colbor? What's going on?"

Colbor was not expecting his radio to work. He had been broadcasting help requests on all channels, more to warn the Resistance, than because he expected to get an answer to his pleas. But now that an answer had come, there was no mistaking the voice behind it. Elpizo. The very reploid whose ambition had sent them all to die such a worthless death.

Communications had been finally established: the Quartermaster was waiting for a response that, were it up to Colbor, he was all but going to like. But this was no time to cast blame. Not while others fought for their right to live. Colbor focused his rising anger on survival: if help was to come, he had to give away his position. Normally this would be a mistake paid in blood. But since Neo Arcadia already knew where they were, that was a moot point.

"Neo Arcadian patrols spotted us while we were crossing the bridges! They cut us off, we can't retreat!"

"What about the depot?"

The depot?! Elpizo's priorities were disheartening. People were dying, and all he was worried about was getting his hands upon a few crates. DX0451 might as well have been a worthless dump, for all the good it had done to the Resistance so far. As energy bullets flew around his head, as friends he had known for an entire life died, Colbor had to refrain himself from cursing Elpizo's name. There would be a time to cast blame. But now was not that time.

"Forget about the depot! We need help. Now!"


End file.
